


Epiphyte

by SilkWrites



Category: Nightcrawler (2014)
Genre: F/M, Jake Gyllenhaal - Freeform, Mistletoe, Rene Russo - Freeform, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 03:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16946112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilkWrites/pseuds/SilkWrites
Summary: Here’s a seasonal vignette featuring a little mistletoe, a little character study, and my favorite toxic OTP, Lou Bloom and Nina Romina from Nightcrawler (2014).  This is set in the context of their relationship toward the end of the film, or shortly after. Written for and originally posted on my Lou Bloom RP blog.





	Epiphyte

**LOU BLOOM**  strides purposefully and proudly through the hallways of KWLA, formerly Los Angeles’ lowest-ranking news station. By this point, no one gives him a second glance; he’s inserted himself so well into the infrastructure that he’s come to be thought of as  _one of them_. In general, this pleases him; though he does find it irksome to periodically remind them, like a broken record, that he  _does_ run his own independent news gathering company. Which, he has stated in no uncertain terms, he expects to be  _credited_ when the station airs his most extraordinary and sensational footage.

The drive he carries in his hand tonight is perhaps  _not_  his most sensational offering, but he feels it represents a solid and compelling effort: shots with framing he can be proud of, red splatter the viewers can’t turn away from.  _Festive_  for this time of year, he thinks, glancing about at wreaths, tinsel, and other seasonal decorations employees have brought in to spruce up the station. There’s a leafy garland hung above Nina’s office, too, he notices as he rounds a corner and stands in the doorway, a smug, cat-like smile on his face, media in his hand. He  _could_ be uploading this from home. He  _could_ have been doing that all this time. They both know why he doesn’t.

“Do you know how mistletoe  _grows_ , Nina?” he asks, glancing upward at the yellow-green sprig with its pallid, mildly-toxic berries, then back at her. “It’s actually a very interesting type of plant because it doesn’t grow rooted in the ground. It attaches to a tree or shrub and extracts water and nutrients from the host plant.” He smiles confidently. He knows quite a bit about plants. And he enjoys showing off what he knows. “So it wouldn’t be that unusual if you were walking in a forest, say in northern Europe, and looked up to see a clump of mistletoe in a branch over your head just like this, though I’m pretty sure  _this_  didn’t just grow here by accident feeding on the humidity absorbed by KWLA’s ceiling tiles.” He chuckles at his own joke.

She’s been giving him that bemused look she sometimes does, the one that says she can’t quite follow where or  _why_  he’s going with the thread of a conversation. The one that says  _don’t waste my time._  “No. It didn’t. _I_  put it there.”

“Oh!” The syllable begins on a high note, drops in pitch. He nods approvingly. “Did you also know that pre-Christian cultures regarded the white berries as symbols of male fertility? I think it’s probably where we get the whole tradition of—”

_“Lou.”_

He’s silent for a split second, then drops his voice, levels his gaze at her. “I think you’re going to want this,” he murmurs, fingers displaying the drive containing his footage, dark eyes punctuating a darker smile.

“I think I am, too,” she whispers back. And it’s only for the  _briefest_ of moments that her eyes acknowledge the item in his hand, before they lock with his.

He steps closer. So does she. And it’s more than just a cursory, traditional kiss when his lips land on hers. They speak wordlessly of the shared secret that they are two of a kind; they sing silently with the singular passion shared by two driven people. And in that moment of breathless mouths and tangled tongues, the surrounding bustle of what is now one of Los Angeles’ most  _successful_  news broadcasting stations melts away – and no news, historical or present-day, can contribute to this moment. All that matters is the excuse offered by a weedy, waxy, hemiparasitic plant, gathered from the wild and given a proper  _place_  in this world.


End file.
